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Dana Scully hadn’t watched her partner, Fox Mulder, for the entirety of the wedding reception. She’d just been keeping tabs on him, peeking at him out of the corner of her eye when she got the chance. And the only reason she did so was because she was concerned that the only two people she had seen Mulder interact with all night were herself and the bartender. And for the past hour, he had been leaning against the bar, a glass always in his hand. Finally, she excused herself from a conversation with some old friends from the academy and walked over to Mulder.
“Mulder, are you just going to stand here all night?” Scully said.
“Sculllayyy!” Mulder said, his exclamation punctuated with a prolonged burp. His hair was ruffled, his shirt was slightly untucked, and his cheeks were redder than Scully’s hair.
“What do you wanna drink, Scully?” But before Scully could answer, Mulder turned to the bartender and said, “You know what, she’ll just have a couple shots of vodka.”
“Mulder.”
“She might be small, but she can hold her liquor.”
The bartender poured two shots of vodka. Mulder grabbed one, spilling some of the clear alcohol as he offered it to his partner.
Scully took the shot glass from Mulder, but didn’t drink it. Mulder took the other drink from the bar and raised the shot glass to his lips, but before he could down the drink, Scully put her hand on his arm.
“I think you’ve had enough.”
“Scully. Scul–” Another burp. “Scully. Listen. I’m playing a drinking game. Every time someone calls me ‘Spooky’ I have to take a drink. And I’m…” Mulder put down the shot glass and began ticking off his fingers. “One…two…four? No, three–I’m three drinks behind–”
Scully sighed. “Mulder. I don’t want to end my night in the hospital pumping your stomach.”
“Scully, I’m just a little tipsy.” To prove his point, Mulder took a few steps away from the bar and nearly fell over. Scully put her arm around his waist and managed to save him from a nasty fall. He again leaned against the bar. Noticing that Mulder’s dress shirt was partly untucked, Scully instinctively began tucking the fabric back into his dress pants. As she did so, Mulder leaned over her, his mouth almost touching her ear as he slurred, “Scully, are you trying to get in my pants?”
Scully met his olive green eyes. His face was so close to hers that she could taste the alcohol on his breath.
“You need to sit down and drink some water,” she said.
After getting a glass of water from the bartender, Scully led Mulder to a nearby chair.
“Weddings are so boring,” Mulder said.
“Maybe you’d enjoy them a bit more if you talked with someone other than the bartender.”
“Who am I supposed to talk to here? I barely even know the bride and groom.”
“Mulder, you know almost everyone here. Half of the FBI is in this room.”
Mulder didn’t seem to hear her. “And until now I couldn’t even say two words to you because that Pain-dull guy wouldn’t leave you alone.”
“Agent Pendrill?”
“He was completely monopolizing the conversation at dinner, you didn’t get to talk to anyone else.”
Scully arched her eyebrows in amusement. “Mulder, do I detect a hint of jealousy?”
“Jealous? Of what? I saw you dance with that guy…he could barely…he was just flailing. No artistry whatsoever.”
“Artistry. Wow. I didn’t know you were a dancing expert, Mulder.”
“Scully, you don't have any idea how good of a dancer I am, you will be blown away, I'll set the dance floor on fire.”
“Really,” Scully said, her voice taking on the same tone of skepticism that it did when Mulder mentioned aliens, or vampires, or el chupacabra, or any of his other…spookier theories. “I never pegged you as a dancer, Mulder.”
“It’s true. And this is something I can defin-deffini-defninini–”
“Definitively?”
Yes. I can de-fini-tive-ly prove. Come on, you’re dancing with me.” Mulder stood up, but he did so too quickly, causing his stomach to lurch and his dinner to spill onto his shirt.
He paused, looking down at the mess he made. Wiping a bit of vomit from his mouth, he mumbled “I think I need to go home, Scully.”
Mulder sat in the passenger seat of Scully’s car, still a bit drunk, but sober enough to realize that Scully was not heading in the direction of his apartment.
“Scully, did you forget where I live?”
“We’re going to my house.”
“You really are trying to get in my pants, aren’t you?”
Scully rolled her eyes. “Last time I was at your apartment the only things in your fridge were a carton of expired milk and something that looked like my 6th grade science project. You’re not going to sober up by eating mold and two month-old milk.”
“It’s worked for me before, but I guess I should trust your medical opinion.”
When they arrived at Scully’s house, Mulder immediately collapsed on the couch. Scully poured Mulder a glass of water and put some bread in the toaster.
“Water and toast? Even I have bread and water,” Mulder teased.
Scully sat on the couch next to Mulder. He rested his head in her lap.
“Mulder, if you puke on my dress–”
“I just might. This toast is scorched.”
Scully ruffled Mulder’s hair. “Sit up.”
He did so, and ate his toast, though not without grimacing. Scully turned on the TV. A few minutes passed and Mulder rested his head on Scully’s shoulder.
“I like this better than the wedding,” he said.
Scully didn’t say anything, she simply leaned into Mulder, and that was really the only answer he needed. The two stayed like that until they slipped into sleep.